


New Voicemail

by oasis_underwater



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, F/M, Fight Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oasis_underwater/pseuds/oasis_underwater
Summary: You are having the biggest match of a lifetime but Bobby is nowhere to be found. Can he make it to your match before the clock runs out?





	New Voicemail

My hands shake as I wait in the back locker room for my match to start. I pull out my cell phone and find no new messages or missed phone calls. With a sigh, I pull up my messages and send a quick, “Where are you?” to Bobby. I sit on one of the benches. My coach, Mr. Skip, brings me a fresh water bottle and gives me a weak smile.

“He’ll be here,” Skip says. 

“I hope so. He never misses a match.”

I go to say further but stop. Skip sits beside me, bumps my shoulder and forces me to give him my back. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hair tie. Skip skillfully braids my hair. The rhythmic sensation of his fingers combing through my hair calms my nerves. The roars and howls of the crowd start as the match bell rings. Even from back here the announcer’s voice is loud and clear.

“That’s it, folks! Our winner is…” he pauses for dramatic and continues, “Cassedy James!” Some of the crowd cheer and others groan at the announcement. “Now, our Texas female representative match between [First Name] [Last Name] and Kimberly Walsh will be starting in two minutes.”

My phone pings. A text from Bobby.  _ Sorry _ , it reads,  _ traffic is really backed up. I’m trying the best I can to get there in time _ . I almost chuck my phone across the room. Skip grabs my hand.

“He’s going to be late, isn’t he?” I nod. “Don’t worry. Even if he’s late, he’ll still get to see you standing tall with a trophy in your hand.” He reels me in and kisses my forehead. “Just in case, we’ll keep that seat reserved for him in the front row.”

“Thanks.” I smile weakly. 

We stand, grab my equipment bag, and start heading for the arena entrance. Skip stops me before I push open the door.

“No matter what happens, we’re proud of you. Your mother and I have been so lucky to train you. These have been the best fifteen years in my career.” He pulls out my gloves from my bag.

“Thanks, Skip.” I extend my hand and wait for the familiar feeling of padding to encase my fingers. “I really needed that.”

With my one free hand, I exchange my cell phone for my other glove. Skip turns it off and shoves it into the bag with the rest of my stuff. We stride out into the arena as my name is called. Some people wave signs around with my name on it. Others sneer and curse. Kimberly enters the ring from the opposite side. Her short hair is tied out of her face completely exposing all the scars and bumps she’s earned from her vicious training. 

As I push past the ropes, my feet welcome the soft bounce of the mats. Skip motions me over and places my mouthguard for me. Kimberly’s wiry coach does the same for her. Kimberly and I walk towards the center, extend our fists, and tap gloves. We get into our stances. Our muscles are taut like snakes coiling back to launch. 

The bell rings.

 

Bobby pounds his hands around the steering wheel and curses under his breath for the traffic to move. Construction heading towards downtown has only made evening traffic worse.

“I knew I should have gotten off of work early,” he mutters to himself.

He fiddles with a small, velvet box in his hand. For something so light, he is amazed how heavy it feels in his hand. A car honks and snaps Bobby out of his thoughts. He moves past the largest layer of traffic, but as he looks at the time he knows it is already too late to catch the start of the match. He sighs and gets caught by another stop. This time at a traffic light. The sun is already setting behind the city’s skyline. 

“I’ll be lucky if I get there before it’s over.”

 

The ref pulls Kimberly off me as the match bell rings. Spit dribbles over the sides of my mouthpiece. Kimberly is soaked in sweat and smirking from her seat on the other side of the ring. Skip takes out my mouthpiece and gives me a drink of water. I look to the side and see my mother cheering me on, but Bobby’s seat is the only empty spot in the venue. I shut my eyes.

“Breathe, [First Name]. You gotta focus otherwise you’re screwed. Look for her weaknesses.” Skip wipes the sweat from my brow and pats my shoulder when the bell rings again. “Beat her.”

Kimberly stalks over to me, blocking her face. I pace around her and try to pinpoint any faults. As my eyes fall towards her feet, I notice her right ankle buckles every so often. Like clockwork. In that instant, a sharp jab passes through my falling defenses. 

The pressure spreads from my nose to my forehead. 

The crowd ohs in sadistic delight. 

I try to swing at her, but nothing lands and the energy drains from my body. Kimberly swipes at me and I’m barely able to dodge. The wind from her fist passing my face is like a slap of cold air. The crowd starts to count down before the round ends. And, like clockwork, Kimberly’s ankle slips. This time it is more severe than the last. I grit my teeth against the bulky plastic in my mouth and smash my fist into her face. Blood spews from her nose and onto the mats. She drops as the bell rings. Kimberly stumbles to her seat and her coach fusses over his weakened fighter. Skip smirks.

“Nice. Now all you gotta do is win this final round and your going home and repping the State in next month’s tournament.”

I smile at the possibility but it instantly turns from glee to disappoint and frustration when I see Bobby seat filled with kernels of popcorn and stains of spilled soda. 

The bell rings.

 

The traffic light turns green.

Bobby floors it as if he was drag racing the car next to him. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he looks at the time. Three minutes till the match is over. Three minutes till he’s missed the most important match in his girlfriend’s career. As he blazes through the street a traffic light ahead of him turns from red to green. 

_ Yes, finally! I just might make it! _

As Bobby passes through the intersect he blasts his radio. 

And gets blasted through by a worn down truck. 

 

I pound into Kimberly’s side and she doubles over in pain. The cheers start to grow louder as the match’s time starts to run down. Their roars of excitement blend into the sound of passing ambulances, firetrucks, and police cars. Her stumble only gets worse as I back her into a corner. The sides of her eyes and her cheeks start to swell and change color the longer I pummel her. The referee pulls me back. Kimberly hangs from the ropes.

Her face is bloody and becoming unrecognizable. 

 

Bobby wheezes. The wheelhouse presses into his sternum and he can feel the bones beneath shifting. His fingers are numb and so is the lower half of his body. Blood streams down his face onto the ceiling of his car. He struggles to pull out his phone from his pocket. His face bunches as he uses more force to finally remove his phone. Sirens ring out in the distance, getting closer with every second. He dials a number but it goes to voicemail immediately. Bobby swallows his tears as the cheerful message plays. The line beeps.

“Hey, babe. It’s me.”

 

At last, Kimberly stands. She looks like a rag doll being held up by strings. I feel a twinge of guilt but I push it down. She lunges for me but loses her balance. 

I take my shot.

With a swift punch as she falls face down, Kimberly is knocked out cold. The ref shakes her to see if she’ll respond. When she doesn’t, he allows her coach to get in and move her. Kimberly’s blood leaves a streaky line as she is dragged to her station. The announcer marches up the stairs and into the ring. He grabs my hand and raises it above my head.

“This is your new female representative! [First Name] [Last Name]!” 

The crowd screams and throws popcorn at me. I look to Skip. He is on the verge of tears and my mother is standing next to him, screaming my name the loudest of all. Yet, as I look into the crowd, one person is still missing. I look back to Skip and he shakes his head. 

After shaking hands and posing for pictures, I run over to Skip and my mom. They hug me and congratulate me. Still, I can’t enjoy it. Not yet.

“Has Bobby called? Texted?”

Skip shakes his head and pulls out my phone. “Don’t know, baby girl. You’re phone’s been shut off for the match.”

I shuffle my feet as it takes forever for the logo screens to disappear after turning on my phone. Eventually, my lock screen shows. One missed call and one voicemail. I press to call Bobby back, but it goes straight to voicemail. And again the second time I try. Frustrated, I play the voicemail expecting some half-assed excuse. 

“Hey, babe. It’s me.” He voice is hoarse and thin. My stomach immediately twists into knots as I not only hear his voice but sirens as well. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be making it to your match. I know it means the world to you but…” I start to tear up at the sound of Bobby sniffling. “I got a little held up. I’ll see you soon, okay? I love you and I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. Bye.”

I furiously dial every hospital in the area until I get a phone call. I search for my keys and race out to my car, not answering as Skip and my mom call out to me. When I get to the hospital, the nurses at the desk jump when I slam my hands onto the desk. One bulbous nurse stands and tries to see if I need a doctor. I shove her hands away and grab her shoulders.

“I need to see Ji-won. Kim Ji-won. I’m his emergency contact.”

The woman’s face falls. She pulls me aside and tries to get me to sit down. She cradles my hands and says,  “Let me get the doctor for you.”

She skitters away and into the triage area. Moments later a tall man with slick black hair and heavy dark circles approaches me. A small bag is sticking out of his doctor’s jacket. He looks down at his feets, searching for the right words, but he doesn’t have to say anything. His face says it for him. 

I crumble onto the stiff waiting room chair and start sobbing. The doctor awkwardly kneels before me and takes one of my hands. He takes the small bag from his pocket and places it into my palm. A small velvet box is inside. 

“He must have really loved you.”

My fingers curl around the small box. “Yeah, he must have.”

The doctor walks away, back into triage. My phone starts to ring but I can’t bring myself to answer Skip’s call. The ringing stops. The screen goes black.

It lights up again, instants later. 

One new voicemail.  


End file.
